


At First There Were Too Many Branches

by GoddessofBirth



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Feels, Future Fic, not-quite-smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-28
Updated: 2012-09-28
Packaged: 2017-11-15 04:36:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoddessofBirth/pseuds/GoddessofBirth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's taken them a long time to get here, and not because she's stabbed him a time or two and he's thrown her across a room more than once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At First There Were Too Many Branches

**Author's Note:**

> Don't blame me. Blame askisaaclahey and huntergirlargent. Might expand it at some point. We'll see.

It's taken them a long time to get here, and not because she's stabbed him – more than once – and he's flung her across a room – more than once - but because it took years for her on again/off again romance with Scott to finally be _off_ , and almost that long for him to come to terms with his guilt at wanting the same girl his best friend loved.

 

But finally, _finally,_ they _are_ here; Isaac braced over her, bare to the waist, and Allison smiling beneath him, one hand curled around his hip, the other slowly tracing the curve of his bottom lip. He likes the red wine color of her bra, and the way it completely clashes with the pink slip of panties she has on. She likes the way his cheeks are stained pink, even through the brash overconfidence he wears like an ill-fitting, second skin.

 

His tongue sweeps out against his lips, cracked and chapped despite werewolf healing powers. He catches her fingers in the process, and a little more of the real Isaac – her Isaac – bleeds through.

 

“You do know I haven't done this before, right?”

 

That he says it like it's a deficiency, something she'll hold against it...she hates it. So much. She's not a virgin, and not remotely ashamed of it; he shouldn't feel embarrassed about his choices, either. And it _is_ a choice; she knows that. Has seen the girls and boys that flock around him. Maybe more so since they left the world of Beacon Hills High, where memories are long, and sins and histories are never forgotten, but even there, Isaac has had more than enough opportunities.

 

She wonders if he was waiting for her; she hopes not, but it's not something she's going to ask, not right now.

 

“That's the last time you'll be able to say that,” she grins, instead of one hundred and one other responses she could have gone with. Because Isaac doesn't need serious right now. Doesn't need weighty, or ponderous, because that's all his life has been for years, and she wants to be the lights, the laughter, the _fun_ that their day to day fight against reality rarely affords them.

 

It works. He smirks, huffs out a laugh, and buries his face in her neck while a hand drifts lower, skims over the waistband of her panties. She doesn't worry about him losing control, hurting her; it's been years since he mastered the shift, because he accepts the wolf in ways others haven't, doesn't fight it or fear it will steal his humanity. He thinks his father stole all of that long before Derek offered the bite, anyway.

 

She's warm, then hot, then _burning,_ as he skates his fingers down her body; a perfect fire he's wanted to scorch his bones in, for what seems like forever. She bends, and she curves, and she wraps herself around his body just like she's wrapped herself around his life, filled in the cracks where things are missing, and let him slip into her broken pieces, too.

 

And they really shouldn't match, but they do, because he's bitter and cynical and jaded, and a scared, broken, seven year old underneath, and she's tough and able and occasionally ruthless, but still holds out hope for happy endings. They're shells that hold truth, facades that always crack, and they fit in the way that fractured things often do.

 

“You're over thinking again,” she whispers, and he realizes he's been tracing the curve of her breast for God knows how long, fingers caught in the softness of her, while his mind is caught in the surprise of _them_. So he makes a rueful face, bends to kiss her, and doesn't get lost again.


End file.
